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n_wilkinsona/n: More ficcage. I will try and have flash fiction tomorrow, but I promise nothing. Gotta work all day.
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
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Chapter Eight
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The Special Ops Douzaine attacked in full force, but they seemed to be ignoring Ione. On Anisa’s orders perhaps? Ione didn’t know. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from her childhood friend.
She trusted Gale and the others. They could take care of themselves. Ione knew she faced the most dangerous one of the Douzaine. Anisa hadn’t gotten the position because she looked good in black. She’d always been damned good, in both the physical aspect of the Conservatory, and her magic manipulation. It was why she had been chosen for the Special Ops.
Ione wasn’t under any illusions. She wasn’t confident she could win. She had no intentions of losing, but she didn’t arrogantly think herself incapable of doing so either. The situation was currently fifty-fifty.
Anisa’s stance was casual, unthreatening, her eyes never wavering from Ione. She didn’t look past Ione to the battle taking place, to the sight of her subordinates attacking those who were precious to Ione. Her eyes were for Ione alone.
“Your parents are worried about you,” Anisa said quietly, as though they were two girls out on a friendly outing rather than enemies meeting on a battlefield. “Come back home, Ione.”
At the mention of her family, Ione’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen them in over a year. She missed them terribly. The occasional letter didn’t make up for being unable to see them.
“To what?” Ione demanded, forcing out the words. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Be executed? If that’s a joke, it’s a poor one.”
“I know people,” Anisa said, her hands still innocuous, still displaying no threat. Ione hated that she couldn’t trust that, trust Anisa. “I can arrange something. Just break that dark bond and Grayshire will take you back with open arms.”
Break her bond? Cast Fenris aside? Just the thought of doing so made Ione’s heart ache. It made something inside of her churn unpleasantly. Her stomach rebelled, her pulse fluttered, her skin broke into a sweat. Heat banked at her eyes.
Break the bond? Ione couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It would be like tearing out a piece of herself and throwing it away like garbage. Fenris wasn’t just her familiar and an added source of power. He was her friend; he was part of her family. They had been together since Ione was old enough to walk and communicate and realize that the talking “wolfie” was a friend and not a danger.
“I refuse,” Ione said flatly, and there was no hesitation in her words. If she had to choose between Grayshire and Fenris, she would do so time and time again. Her parents would understand. Her family would understand. Ione wouldn’t give up her father or her mother or any one of her brothers. She was damn sure she wouldn’t give up Fenris.
Anisa’s right eyebrow twitched. “You’re making a mistake.”
“In this case, I’d rather be wrong. You know nothing of the truth. What Grayshire’s done. You’re as blind as the rest of them.” Ione felt her aether curling around her body and she quickly reeled it back in, having already experienced a tiny portion of the Varos backlash. She didn’t want to taste it again.
“Are your rebels so much better?” Anisa demanded calmly, and she moved, but only to step to the side. Like a circling hunter. “Are they so pure? I’m sure they only speak truth. That there’s nothing hidden. No secrets. And yet, who do you think killed my brother?”
Ione’s blood ran a little cold. Logic dictated that Anisa might say anything for any purpose.
“We’re in a war,” Ione said carefully, matching Anisa step for step, unwilling to let the other woman far from her sight.
“Aaron wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t even in training to be one,” Anisa argued, her tone flat, her eyes empty. “He was a member of the Skyla. A scholar. So tell me why he was killed, Ione. Justice? Truth? Whatever these nobles think they’re after?”
“I…” Ione faltered. She didn’t know what to say.
Was Anisa lying? Was she telling the truth? They were in a war. People were dying. Ione knew this. She remembered Faye. She remembered Ophelia. By the gods, did she remember Ophelia.
“Whose eyes are blind now?” Anisa spat, her tone thickening with malice. But she was still calm, still collected, thinking straight. Nothing like Faye had been.
Ione briefly closed her eyes before opening them again. “You’re lying,” she said lowly, clenching and unclenching her fists. Anisa’s words were niggling at all of Ione’s insecurities, all of the questions she had been asking herself lately.
“Am I? Why don’t you ask them?”
Ione didn’t have an answer to that. “I’m not going back.”
Lips curling into a half-smirk, Anisa harrumphed. “Then you’re as guilty as the rest of them,” she said, and in a flash, she leapt forward, short blades flashing in her fingers. Ione couldn’t even remember seeing her draw them, Anisa had been so fast.
Ione quickly brought up her hands for defense, blocking one blow with her arm and knocking away the other with her other hand. Anisa pressed forward, driving Ione back a step, her slashes quick and vicious. And all Ione had were her bare hands and her unnamed sword, a truly unwieldy weapon to Ione still. Even after a year of reluctant practice.
She twisted to avoid another slash, and ducked under a third, spinning on her heel to kick out at Anisa. The other woman danced out of the way, easily regaining her balance and lashing out at Ione again. Ione dodged with a flexible move that would have made Gale proud, forcing herself to draw her sword.
Pointed daggers met the wide width of her blade in a loud clang, Anisa staring at her over the point of their joined weapons.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Ione said, drawing in a sharp breath. Because it was the truth.
The Anisa she remembered from years ago was overlaying the assassin standing in front of Ione right now. All Ione could see was her childhood friend, the same woman who laughed with Ione, attended Conservatory with her, and took the entrance tests to the Brigade with her. They’d trained each other, helped each other learn the necessary moves. Anisa was like the sister Ione never had and though communication between them had faded thanks to Anisa’s advanced training for the Special Ops, Ione had never forgotten her. Not once.
“We are friends, Anisa,” Ione said, her fingers curling around the hilt of her sword. “Why won’t you listen?”
“Why won’t you?” Anisa countered, and drew back, aiming low, under Ione’s guard.
Ione danced back, slipping to the right to avoid one slash and knocking away the pointed dagger of the second with her sword. The blade was heavy for one hand, too unwieldy for Ione, and she wished for something else.
Anisa, smaller and lighter, leapt at Ione, her body twisting through the air in a move Ione could have admired, if not the situation. Ione held her stance until the last second, and then threw herself to the right, avoiding the near-deadly blow. Anisa hit the ground and rolled, coming up to slash at Ione with her dagger, forcing Ione to dance backward to escape the quick jab.
Anisa was quick. Much, much quicker than Ione.
Drawing back, Ione focused on her childhood friend, placing the length of her unnamed blade between them.
Anisa rose slowly to her feet, watching Ione like a hawk eyed a defenseless rabbit on the ground. “You know,” she said, skillfully twirling one poniard over her fingers. “I never took you for one of those girls.”
“What?”
“The sort who think with their heart and not logic. But it seems Arlen’s got you wrapped, right where he wants you.”
Ione stiffened, unsurprised by the fact she and Gale’s relationship had somehow reached Grayshire, but still annoyed that Anisa had dared bring it up. Had dared suggest something negative about it.
“It’s not like that.”
Anisa tilted her head to the side, poniard twirling across her fingers. “Isn’t it?”
“You know nothing about him.”
“Funny, because you don’t either.”
Ione twitched. “I know enough.”
“But not what’s important.” Anisa shrugged nonchalantly. “Ah, the stories I could tell. If you only knew, Ione, if you only understood. You’re sleeping with the enemy and you think it’s right, but it’s not.” The poniard snapped into her palm and Anisa’s gaze whipped toward Ione accusingly. “They’ve turned you against your family, your loyalty, when you thought you didn’t have a choice. How is that logical? How is that honorable?”
“It’s not like that!” Ione protested, but even to her, it sounded weak. Too weak to carry any weight. Anisa’s words were too on point, each a dart on the doubt and insecurities building up in Ione’s mind.
A flash of familiar aether startled Ione, distracting her. Her heart leapt into her throat and she turned her head, realizing that she and Anisa were alone. Somehow, they had separated from the others. Ione could hear them, could feel them, but they weren’t in sight. And that aether! She would know Gale anywhere. He knew better than to use magic here. Was he in trouble? Why did his aether taste so strongly of pain and regret, why was it bitter with sorrow?
He needed her.
Pain raked across Ione’s left forearm and she gasped, stumbling back, sword raised in instinctual defense. A poniard clattered against the wide blade and Ione hurriedly ducked under another blow, feeling wet heat course down her left arm. She had been struck, Ione realized, as she twisted to avoid Anisa’s next, violent attack.
“You’ve left me no choice,” Anisa said lowly, barely winded for all her effort. “If I can’t convince you, then I have to eliminate the threat. It’s my job, my duty.”
“It’s wrong!” Ione cried, and lashed out at Anisa with her sword as heat spread through her left arm. The slice wasn’t deep, but it bled freely, and it stung. It made her left arm feel weaker, almost tingling.
Anisa knocked the blade away, the blow powerful enough to make Ione lose her tenuous grip. She dropped her sword, ignored the dull thud it made when it hit the ground, and used her forearm to knock away Anisa’s wrist, avoiding the deadly spike of the poniard.
Ione ducked under Anisa’s skilled swing and came up inside Anisa’s guard, delivering a solid blow to the assassin’s midsection before dancing back, out of the way of Anisa’s quick counterblow that would have jabbed right through Ione’s shoulder. Anisa was deadly fast with those poniard, each acting as an extension of herself rather than mere tools. Unlike Ione, who still treated her sword as an unwelcome family visitor.
Ione glanced once to the fallen blade before dismissing it. The sword would only slow her down, prove to be a hindrance. Her left arm couldn’t help support the weight anyway.
“You turned your back on us so easily,” Anisa said, sucking in a sharp breath as she winced, pain no doubt radiating through her abdomen. “Don’t you even feel a smidgen of guilt?”
“They were going to kill me,” Ione retorted lowly, gingerly feeling at the wound on her arm and finding it to be long, but shallow. She would live. It just stung like a bunch of heated needles were tap-dancing across her skin.
Anisa leapt forward, and Ione planted a foot against the ground, meeting her attack head on. She quickly blocked one thrust of the poniard, twisted to avoid another, and aimed an elbow for Anisa’s chest. The assassin threw herself back to avoid it, and Ione took advantage, throwing another fist at Anisa, which was quickly pushed aside by Anisa’s right wrist and a tap of the poniard.
They exchanged blows quickly, Ione’s fists deflecting Anisa’s wrists, and her clothing getting snagged by the tip of Anisa’s poniards. But no more blood, not yet. Ione’s knuckles were aching from the few solid punches she had landed, and she’d wished she had enough sense to pack a pair of sparring gloves. Hindsight, she supposed.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Anisa said calmly, though her eyes were dark, determined. Nothing like Faye. She would kill Ione because she had to, because it was her duty and duty was the only thing Anisa worshiped, childhood friend or not.
“I do!” Ione argued, emotions swirling up inside of her.
Hayden hadn’t been lying. Ophelia hadn’t died for nothing. Ione couldn’t be sure who was lying and who was telling the truth. But she’d been there when Holmes had killed Ophelia. She’d seen Grayson alive and well, not burned to death as Grayshire believed. Ione had read the books for herself, she’d seen what had become of the Varos Flats.
Maybe she couldn’t believe everything that Gale and the rest of the Theravada were telling her. But she couldn’t believe all of Grayshire either. No, Ione would figure out what was true all on her own.
Ione’s fist slammed into Anisa’s shoulder, throwing the assassin off balance. A second blow clipped Anisa’s jaw and she stumbled.
“They killed Ophelia!” Ione shouted, because Anisa and Ophelia had been close once upon a time as well. “Your precious Grayshire murdered her! That’s all I need to know!”
“And your precious Theravada burned my brother to death,” Anisa hissed, for the first time showing at trace of emotion, wiping angrily at a trail of blood from where she had bitten her lip. “You’re as guilty as the rest of them,” she growled, and attacked.
A poniard came flying toward Ione’s face. She twisted to avoid the projectile, never expecting Anisa to throw her weapon, and cried out when Anisa’s body slammed full force into hers. The two women crashed to the ground, Ione hitting hard soil with a harsh snap, the breath momentarily knocked out of her.
She gasped, grappling madly with Anisa, and uttered a curse when Anisa grabbed her left arm, digging fingers into Ione’s wound. More blood flowed freely and pain radiated up Ione’s arms. Her aether swirled and swelled, threatening to explode, responding to her pain. They rolled over wood and rocks, pieces of broken trees with jagged limbs that poked into Ione’s skin and through her clothes. The flooring was littered with vegetative debris.
Ione bucked, trying to throw Anisa off, to get a grip on the other woman. A knee rammed into Ione’s belly, driving her breath out of her. She twisted, slamming an elbow into Anisa’s jaw and driving Anisa back for a second. It was enough time for Ione to half-scramble out from beneath her, kicking her way free with a well-placed heel to Anisa’s right knee.
Anisa cursed, the blows only a momentary distraction, and came after Ione. One hand wrapped around Ione’s ankle, trying to drag her back.
Ione’s hand slipped out from under her and she hit the ground on her chest, rock biting into her chin harshly, drawing blood. Ione, gasping, blearily looked around, one groping hand encountering a large piece of wood, like many others scattered beneath them.
Ione didn’t think, didn’t consider it. Not with her heart pounding in her ears, her breathing a staggered staccato, the lingering feeling of Gale’s pained aether. The truth that he needed her, that Anisa wasn’t going to stop. That Ione was going to live because she sure as Kaiyu wasn’t going to die.
Grabbing the wood, Ione twisted onto her side and swung the log with all her might, slamming it into the side of Anisa’s head with all the force she could muster. A sickening crunch split the dry afternoon as the blow threw Anisa to the side, loosening her hold on Ione.
She dropped the log in horror and scrambled out from half-beneath Anisa, struggling to calm the raging waters inside of her. Ione clutched her wounded arm to her chest, closing her eyes as she dragged herself against the trunk of a tree. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe, pain radiating through her entire body. She felt bruised, the harsh sound of log striking skull echoing in the back of her mind, over and over.
It was too silent, too still. Ione wished, more than anything, that Fenris had been able to come. She could use the sly wolf’s comfort right now. His knowledge. His snark.
Swallowing thickly, Ione opened her eyes and looked at Anisa. The assassin hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched. Blood was trickling from her right ear, where Ione had hit her. Her eyes half-open, staring blankly.
Ione stiffened, and then forced herself to move.
“Anisa?”
Not a sound, not an answer, not a whisper of aether. Did she really expect one?
Ione’s left arm itched like mad, burning and radiating stabs of pain. She ignored it, creeping forward, one hand turning Anisa’s face toward hers. Her palm was warm against Anisa’s cheek. The assassin’s chest wasn’t moving. There wasn’t a single puff of breath from her nose or her slightly parted lips.
Ione wasn’t so naïve. Anisa was dead. And Ione had killed her.
“We’re in a war.”
Her own words came back to haunt her.
“It’s not your fault.”
Except that it was. This time, at any rate. Faye’s death may have been an accident, a fault of their foolishness and an icy lake. But this, this was all Ione’s doing. All her hands. She had swung the log, she had aimed, she had used all her strength.
She had been protecting herself. She had been desperate. Somehow, that didn’t make her feel any less disgusted with herself.
Ione leaned forward, gently closing Anisa’s eyelids. Thinking of Anisa’s parents, who would now grieve for two children instead of one. Anisa had a younger sister, about Naomi’s age, but still, to lose two members of the family in such a short span of time…
Ione couldn’t even begin to contemplate it.
Feeling dull, disconnected, Ione reached for the thick sash wound about her waist and yanked it free. She wrapped it around her injured arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Using her teeth, she managed to tie off the knot, her entire arm swabbed in cloth. It would do for now, until she could get back to Paragon and have Cyrus take a look at it.
Ione dragged herself to her feet, clutching her injured arm close. She looked down at Anisa, her clothing a splotch of black that eerily resembled the ash left behind by a Merihem. Her childhood friend, killed by Ione’s own hands.
Suddenly, Ione felt nothing more than a naïve young girl, foolishly believing that everything would be all right in the end. The realities of the war had never been so real to her. Ophelia’s death had brought the tragedy home, but the bloodshed had always felt removed to Ione. Even in the Brigade, she’d only ever captured the enemy. Grayshire had wanted members of the rebellion alive for questioning, after all, and even then, they’d just been enemy to Ione. Not former friend.
The blood felt heavy on her hands.
Swallowing thickly, Ione forced herself to turn, leave Anisa behind. She had to find the others, to see if they were all right. Her family. Kieran and Siobhan and Gale and Helene. Gale whose aether had reacted strongly and strangely earlier, in a place where they shouldn’t have dared use their magic.
Ione moved woodenly, on automatic, as she tried to retrace her steps to where she had left the rest of her companions. She and Anisa couldn’t have gotten too far. No doubt it was just the thick, dead underbrush that made it seem farther. She tried not to think about having to leave Anisa behind, about the body that Ione couldn’t carry on her own. She tried not to think about how much she was betraying yet another piece of her childhood.
Voices keyed her in to the fact she was getting close. That and the subtle vibrations of Gale’s familiar aether reaching out to coil with her own. A completely unconscious act, one that didn’t seem to be affected by the negativity of Varos.
Ione found them a few minutes later, just behind a copse of dead, twisted willow trees. The Special Ops Douzaine was nothing more than collapsed forms scattered around the small space, alive or dead, Ione couldn’t tell. She suspected it was a mixture of both.
“Ione!” Gale spotted her first, the relief in his tone tangible. His gaze fell to her wrapped arm. “You…?”
“It’s just a scratch,” Ione dismissed, and moved slowly closer, her body aching where Anisa had kneed her.
She noticed him then. Her uncle, laid out across the ground, unmarred but unconscious. Barley breathing, looking pale as death, and Gale, face twisted with worry, blood painting the front of his robes.
“What happened?” Ione demanded, her gaze skittering around, finally finding Siobhan just a few short feet away.
The scientist was kneeling on the ground, her arms wrapped around Helene, who also wasn’t moving.
Something tightened in Ione’s chest. She staggered.
“What in four hells happened?”
Gale was on his feet in a moment, his hands on her shoulders, squeezing tightly as though trying to stop the hysteria that was building up inside of her. “He’s alive, Ione,” Gale reassured her. “He’s been poisoned, but for right now, he’s alive. We have to get him back to Paragon. We don’t have much time.”
Swallowing thickly, Ione nodded numbly. “And Helene?”
Grief flashed in green eyes, dulled by their experience. “I couldn’t save her,” Gale said, and his gaze fell away, blond hair safely concealing his expression from her. “Sabriel’s going to kill me.”
“I don’t understand,” Siobhan said, her voice thick from tears, shed and soon to fall. “Grayshire’s never sent frequent patrols into Varos before. Why would they send a Special Ops Douzaine? Why were they here?”
Pale blue eyes looked at Ione desperately, as though she should know the answer to those questions. But she didn’t, she didn’t know why Anisa was here, leading a Douzaine of assassins with intentions to kill them. Was it nothing more than coincidence?
“We can’t afford to think about that right now,” Ione found herself saying, the strange voice of reason. “We have to get back to Paragon before we lose Kieran, too.”
Gale’s hands fell from her shoulders. “Anisa?”
It was Ione’s turn to look away. “We’re in a war. What do you expect?”
She didn’t exactly answer him, but her words were confirmation enough. Ione looked at her uncle worriedly, so still, so much like death. Helene was already dead. Ione had been too late to save Ophelia. Her jaw firmed. She wouldn’t fail to save her uncle.
“Gale, could I have your cloak?”
He looked at her for several seconds, his gaze piercing. “Why?”
“We can’t leave Helene here,” Ione answered, forcing herself to breathe, to be calm and in control. She could panic and rage and cry and break down later. But right now, they didn’t have much time and Ione had to be strong. She was strong.
Luckily, the rest required little explanation.
Ione casually rubbed a hand over her aching arm, watching as Siobhan gently wrapped Helene in Gale’s robe.
Just yesterday they had been running together, telling stories. Helene had given her some good advice. And now Helene was gone. Ione was having trouble reconciling that in her mind.
They built a sling to carry Helene since Ione’s left arm was useless and neither she nor Siobhan could do it on her own.
Gale put Kieran over his shoulder, the scientist not making a single sound, not even a single twitch. If not for his shallow breathing, his weak pulse, Ione would have thought him dead. She looked at her uncle’s slack face, at his lack of usual energy, and something inside of her clenched unpleasantly. She couldn’t bear to lose him, too.
The walk would be a long one, a couple hours at least. And they would be slowed by their injuries, by their burdens. Ione wasn’t surprised that conversation was nonexistent. The cheerful, almost excited tone of that morning had been utterly demolished, leaving a tense sorrow behind. The sun crawled higher in the sky, gleaming down at them heatedly.
Ione’s left arm ached and itched in the wrappings. A few spots of red showed through her sash, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to worry Gale. They had too much on their shoulders already.
At her side, Gale looked lost in thought. His brows were drawn tight, the blood on his clothes all that more noticeable. Siobhan was equally silent, trudging along and doggedly carrying Helene’s weight, her eyes occasionally skittering over to her boss worriedly.
“You had no choice,” Gale said quietly, his voice breaking into Ione’s thoughts. “She had her orders and she was going to follow them.”
Ione chewed on her bottom lip. “She offered me the chance to return to Grayshire.”
Gale turned toward her in startled surprise. “You believed her?”
“A part of me wanted to,” Ione admitted, because it was true. There was a part of her that wanted to go back to the way things were. Before she had been forced to leave her family. Before Malcolm had been betrayed by his own and left for dead. Before Ione had to face her former companions across the battlefield. Simpler times.
“Ione…”
She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, Gale. I don’t regret my decision to join the Theravada. But I miss my parents, my brothers, my friends.” She looked up at him, idly rolling her right shoulder to ease the strain of the sling bearing Helene. “I miss the way things used to be.”
Gale looked uncomfortable, worried even. “Grayshire wants to kill you.”
“I know.” Ione sighed, her right arm twitching. “Anisa claimed she knew people. She could make things happen. And all I had to do was abandon Fenris. Break our bond.”
“I couldn’t even consider such a thing.”
“Neither could I.” Ione offered him a small smile, which failed at being reassuring. “I turned her down, Gale. I didn’t even have to think about it.”
The way his eyes lit up should have warmed her inside, but instead, Ione felt strangely cold. Maybe it was shock, the build up of the day’s events. She wasn’t sure. Too much was happening all at once.
Paragon came into sight after what seemed like days of trudging, and Siobhan, bolstered by the sight, rushed ahead of them to get help. Ione was grateful that she had, because now both arms were aching and her legs were beginning to feel a little weak. She wavered, her right hand lifting to her face where she felt strangely hot and flushed.
“Ione?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine,” Ione reassured as Gale looked at her in concern. “It’s the heat, I think. Too hot for Autumn, yes?”
Gale didn’t look like he believed her. Not that he had a chance to argue any different, not with the swarm of people suddenly upon them. Siobhan had returned, and with her one of the guards inside the tunnel. No doubt the other had been sent to acquire more help.
Terrace, Ione recognized him as one of Grayson’s favorite sparring partners, had already hefted Helene into his arms. A well-muscled, burly sort of man, he was well suited for the task.
With Terrace’s help, they were easily rushed to the hidden tunnel where even more people crowded them. Sabriel and Talya and Cyrus, out of breath from having run the whole way. Malcolm and many others, including Inari who immediately tangled herself around Gale’s legs and Gwydion who fluttered into the room with a worried click of her beak as she settled on Kieran’s chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” the little owl demanded.
“I’m not sure,” Gale answered, but he held out his hand, showing the dart nestled in his palm. “But I know this had something to do with it.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Master Kieran should be immune to any poison crafted by Grayshire.”
“Apparently, not this one,” Gale said. “Where’s the boss?”
“I had to send Ogden out for him,” Talya explained, dropping to her knees beside Kieran and checking his vitals as Cyrus did the same on the other side. “He went back to Grayshire this morning, saying something about a meeting.”
“Damn.” Gale cursed, and then noticed his cousin, Sabriel standing there with all the blood draining from his face as Terrace handed Helene over as delicately as possible.
“Ione!” A large force slammed into her and Ione stumbled as Fenris all but tackled her, sending her off balance until her back hit the wall lightly, jogging some bruises.
She grunted and quickly put a hand on his head, petting familiar grey fur. “You trying to injure me even more?” Ione grumbled, feeling oddly dizzy. Disconnected.
There were two wolves, not just one? Her ears felt stuffed with cotton. She couldn’t quite hear. And golden eyes looked into hers intently. Worried.
A wave of nausea swept through Ione and she swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly filled with saliva. Her aether, usually a calm wind inside of her, suddenly raged like a hurricane before settling down again, repeating the process until she felt she were swimming through a pressure of magic.
“Something’s not right with you,” Fenris said, dropping back down to his paws and nosing at her injured arm. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Ione said, but it was more of a mumble. Her tongue didn’t want to cooperate. Her legs turned to jelly and she slumped against the wall. “It only burns a little.”
“Burns?” Fenris repeated and she didn’t like his tone.
“You don’t feel right,” another voice commented, and Ione startled. When had Aponi shown up?
Ione blinked, trying to turn her head to see the butterfly sitting on her shoulder. But everything was a dark blur. It felt like it was moving in painfully slow motion. Her arm burned and felt dead weight at her side. Dots danced in front of her eyes, and the ground seemed so far away. She swayed again.
Hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look into green eyes. “Ione?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but it was more of a slur.
“No, you’re not,” Gale insisted.
Pain suddenly shot through her entire body and Ione gasped, curling over. “I know. I don’t… I don’t feel so good.” Her hands shot out, grabbing onto his arms.
“Were you hit by a dart?”
Ione shook her head, and instantly wished she hadn’t. It suddenly felt like a dozen Graysons were dancing about her skull, sparring with her brain cells.
“She’s hurt right here though,” Fenris said from somewhere far below, his voice heard through a thick fog.
Fingers grabbed Ione’s right arm, unwinding the makeshift bandage. Their touch burned like fire, and had Ione the strength, she would have pulled away. The white light of the hall was too bright; it burned her eyes so she closed them. Her fingers felt numb.
Somebody gasped and a gentle touch brushed Ione’s arm, in a wider circle than she knew the wound to stretch. It was just a small thing. It barely bled. What were they so worried about?
“Why do her pupils look like that, Cyrus?”
“This isn’t good.”
“Do something!”
“Like what? Nothing I’ve seen reacts like this!”
Ione shivered, while heat bloomed throughout her body. Her aether rose in a violent lash, and then subsided again, quivering inside of her like a scared child. It was almost like being caught by the Merihem again, looking into it’s gem-colored eyes and feeling as if her soul were being sucked out at the same time.
“Ione!” Gale’s voice, his warm hand, his green eyes.
“Tired,” she mumbled, and her numb grip fell away from Gale’s robes. She thought she might have been crumpling but it was a distant sensation before she was swept from the ground and into someone’s arms.
Darkness started crawling into the edges of her conscious. Descending faster and faster, sucking her in. The world blurred, sight and sense and sound and touch. She smelled blood and despair; she tasted the smoke of torches, the harsh bitter scent of charred food. Something wet bumped her dangling left hand. A bare brush settled on her ear. She heard a steady thump-thump near her right ear.
And then Ione knew nothing at all.
*****
a/n: Updates will slow as I gear up for NaNo. Man, it seems like there just isn't enough time in a day anymore. Sheesh. Computer still broke; things are taking longer. Still, I hope you liked the update!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
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Chapter Eight
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The Special Ops Douzaine attacked in full force, but they seemed to be ignoring Ione. On Anisa’s orders perhaps? Ione didn’t know. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from her childhood friend.
She trusted Gale and the others. They could take care of themselves. Ione knew she faced the most dangerous one of the Douzaine. Anisa hadn’t gotten the position because she looked good in black. She’d always been damned good, in both the physical aspect of the Conservatory, and her magic manipulation. It was why she had been chosen for the Special Ops.
Ione wasn’t under any illusions. She wasn’t confident she could win. She had no intentions of losing, but she didn’t arrogantly think herself incapable of doing so either. The situation was currently fifty-fifty.
Anisa’s stance was casual, unthreatening, her eyes never wavering from Ione. She didn’t look past Ione to the battle taking place, to the sight of her subordinates attacking those who were precious to Ione. Her eyes were for Ione alone.
“Your parents are worried about you,” Anisa said quietly, as though they were two girls out on a friendly outing rather than enemies meeting on a battlefield. “Come back home, Ione.”
At the mention of her family, Ione’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen them in over a year. She missed them terribly. The occasional letter didn’t make up for being unable to see them.
“To what?” Ione demanded, forcing out the words. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Be executed? If that’s a joke, it’s a poor one.”
“I know people,” Anisa said, her hands still innocuous, still displaying no threat. Ione hated that she couldn’t trust that, trust Anisa. “I can arrange something. Just break that dark bond and Grayshire will take you back with open arms.”
Break her bond? Cast Fenris aside? Just the thought of doing so made Ione’s heart ache. It made something inside of her churn unpleasantly. Her stomach rebelled, her pulse fluttered, her skin broke into a sweat. Heat banked at her eyes.
Break the bond? Ione couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It would be like tearing out a piece of herself and throwing it away like garbage. Fenris wasn’t just her familiar and an added source of power. He was her friend; he was part of her family. They had been together since Ione was old enough to walk and communicate and realize that the talking “wolfie” was a friend and not a danger.
“I refuse,” Ione said flatly, and there was no hesitation in her words. If she had to choose between Grayshire and Fenris, she would do so time and time again. Her parents would understand. Her family would understand. Ione wouldn’t give up her father or her mother or any one of her brothers. She was damn sure she wouldn’t give up Fenris.
Anisa’s right eyebrow twitched. “You’re making a mistake.”
“In this case, I’d rather be wrong. You know nothing of the truth. What Grayshire’s done. You’re as blind as the rest of them.” Ione felt her aether curling around her body and she quickly reeled it back in, having already experienced a tiny portion of the Varos backlash. She didn’t want to taste it again.
“Are your rebels so much better?” Anisa demanded calmly, and she moved, but only to step to the side. Like a circling hunter. “Are they so pure? I’m sure they only speak truth. That there’s nothing hidden. No secrets. And yet, who do you think killed my brother?”
Ione’s blood ran a little cold. Logic dictated that Anisa might say anything for any purpose.
“We’re in a war,” Ione said carefully, matching Anisa step for step, unwilling to let the other woman far from her sight.
“Aaron wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t even in training to be one,” Anisa argued, her tone flat, her eyes empty. “He was a member of the Skyla. A scholar. So tell me why he was killed, Ione. Justice? Truth? Whatever these nobles think they’re after?”
“I…” Ione faltered. She didn’t know what to say.
Was Anisa lying? Was she telling the truth? They were in a war. People were dying. Ione knew this. She remembered Faye. She remembered Ophelia. By the gods, did she remember Ophelia.
“Whose eyes are blind now?” Anisa spat, her tone thickening with malice. But she was still calm, still collected, thinking straight. Nothing like Faye had been.
Ione briefly closed her eyes before opening them again. “You’re lying,” she said lowly, clenching and unclenching her fists. Anisa’s words were niggling at all of Ione’s insecurities, all of the questions she had been asking herself lately.
“Am I? Why don’t you ask them?”
Ione didn’t have an answer to that. “I’m not going back.”
Lips curling into a half-smirk, Anisa harrumphed. “Then you’re as guilty as the rest of them,” she said, and in a flash, she leapt forward, short blades flashing in her fingers. Ione couldn’t even remember seeing her draw them, Anisa had been so fast.
Ione quickly brought up her hands for defense, blocking one blow with her arm and knocking away the other with her other hand. Anisa pressed forward, driving Ione back a step, her slashes quick and vicious. And all Ione had were her bare hands and her unnamed sword, a truly unwieldy weapon to Ione still. Even after a year of reluctant practice.
She twisted to avoid another slash, and ducked under a third, spinning on her heel to kick out at Anisa. The other woman danced out of the way, easily regaining her balance and lashing out at Ione again. Ione dodged with a flexible move that would have made Gale proud, forcing herself to draw her sword.
Pointed daggers met the wide width of her blade in a loud clang, Anisa staring at her over the point of their joined weapons.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Ione said, drawing in a sharp breath. Because it was the truth.
The Anisa she remembered from years ago was overlaying the assassin standing in front of Ione right now. All Ione could see was her childhood friend, the same woman who laughed with Ione, attended Conservatory with her, and took the entrance tests to the Brigade with her. They’d trained each other, helped each other learn the necessary moves. Anisa was like the sister Ione never had and though communication between them had faded thanks to Anisa’s advanced training for the Special Ops, Ione had never forgotten her. Not once.
“We are friends, Anisa,” Ione said, her fingers curling around the hilt of her sword. “Why won’t you listen?”
“Why won’t you?” Anisa countered, and drew back, aiming low, under Ione’s guard.
Ione danced back, slipping to the right to avoid one slash and knocking away the pointed dagger of the second with her sword. The blade was heavy for one hand, too unwieldy for Ione, and she wished for something else.
Anisa, smaller and lighter, leapt at Ione, her body twisting through the air in a move Ione could have admired, if not the situation. Ione held her stance until the last second, and then threw herself to the right, avoiding the near-deadly blow. Anisa hit the ground and rolled, coming up to slash at Ione with her dagger, forcing Ione to dance backward to escape the quick jab.
Anisa was quick. Much, much quicker than Ione.
Drawing back, Ione focused on her childhood friend, placing the length of her unnamed blade between them.
Anisa rose slowly to her feet, watching Ione like a hawk eyed a defenseless rabbit on the ground. “You know,” she said, skillfully twirling one poniard over her fingers. “I never took you for one of those girls.”
“What?”
“The sort who think with their heart and not logic. But it seems Arlen’s got you wrapped, right where he wants you.”
Ione stiffened, unsurprised by the fact she and Gale’s relationship had somehow reached Grayshire, but still annoyed that Anisa had dared bring it up. Had dared suggest something negative about it.
“It’s not like that.”
Anisa tilted her head to the side, poniard twirling across her fingers. “Isn’t it?”
“You know nothing about him.”
“Funny, because you don’t either.”
Ione twitched. “I know enough.”
“But not what’s important.” Anisa shrugged nonchalantly. “Ah, the stories I could tell. If you only knew, Ione, if you only understood. You’re sleeping with the enemy and you think it’s right, but it’s not.” The poniard snapped into her palm and Anisa’s gaze whipped toward Ione accusingly. “They’ve turned you against your family, your loyalty, when you thought you didn’t have a choice. How is that logical? How is that honorable?”
“It’s not like that!” Ione protested, but even to her, it sounded weak. Too weak to carry any weight. Anisa’s words were too on point, each a dart on the doubt and insecurities building up in Ione’s mind.
A flash of familiar aether startled Ione, distracting her. Her heart leapt into her throat and she turned her head, realizing that she and Anisa were alone. Somehow, they had separated from the others. Ione could hear them, could feel them, but they weren’t in sight. And that aether! She would know Gale anywhere. He knew better than to use magic here. Was he in trouble? Why did his aether taste so strongly of pain and regret, why was it bitter with sorrow?
He needed her.
Pain raked across Ione’s left forearm and she gasped, stumbling back, sword raised in instinctual defense. A poniard clattered against the wide blade and Ione hurriedly ducked under another blow, feeling wet heat course down her left arm. She had been struck, Ione realized, as she twisted to avoid Anisa’s next, violent attack.
“You’ve left me no choice,” Anisa said lowly, barely winded for all her effort. “If I can’t convince you, then I have to eliminate the threat. It’s my job, my duty.”
“It’s wrong!” Ione cried, and lashed out at Anisa with her sword as heat spread through her left arm. The slice wasn’t deep, but it bled freely, and it stung. It made her left arm feel weaker, almost tingling.
Anisa knocked the blade away, the blow powerful enough to make Ione lose her tenuous grip. She dropped her sword, ignored the dull thud it made when it hit the ground, and used her forearm to knock away Anisa’s wrist, avoiding the deadly spike of the poniard.
Ione ducked under Anisa’s skilled swing and came up inside Anisa’s guard, delivering a solid blow to the assassin’s midsection before dancing back, out of the way of Anisa’s quick counterblow that would have jabbed right through Ione’s shoulder. Anisa was deadly fast with those poniard, each acting as an extension of herself rather than mere tools. Unlike Ione, who still treated her sword as an unwelcome family visitor.
Ione glanced once to the fallen blade before dismissing it. The sword would only slow her down, prove to be a hindrance. Her left arm couldn’t help support the weight anyway.
“You turned your back on us so easily,” Anisa said, sucking in a sharp breath as she winced, pain no doubt radiating through her abdomen. “Don’t you even feel a smidgen of guilt?”
“They were going to kill me,” Ione retorted lowly, gingerly feeling at the wound on her arm and finding it to be long, but shallow. She would live. It just stung like a bunch of heated needles were tap-dancing across her skin.
Anisa leapt forward, and Ione planted a foot against the ground, meeting her attack head on. She quickly blocked one thrust of the poniard, twisted to avoid another, and aimed an elbow for Anisa’s chest. The assassin threw herself back to avoid it, and Ione took advantage, throwing another fist at Anisa, which was quickly pushed aside by Anisa’s right wrist and a tap of the poniard.
They exchanged blows quickly, Ione’s fists deflecting Anisa’s wrists, and her clothing getting snagged by the tip of Anisa’s poniards. But no more blood, not yet. Ione’s knuckles were aching from the few solid punches she had landed, and she’d wished she had enough sense to pack a pair of sparring gloves. Hindsight, she supposed.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Anisa said calmly, though her eyes were dark, determined. Nothing like Faye. She would kill Ione because she had to, because it was her duty and duty was the only thing Anisa worshiped, childhood friend or not.
“I do!” Ione argued, emotions swirling up inside of her.
Hayden hadn’t been lying. Ophelia hadn’t died for nothing. Ione couldn’t be sure who was lying and who was telling the truth. But she’d been there when Holmes had killed Ophelia. She’d seen Grayson alive and well, not burned to death as Grayshire believed. Ione had read the books for herself, she’d seen what had become of the Varos Flats.
Maybe she couldn’t believe everything that Gale and the rest of the Theravada were telling her. But she couldn’t believe all of Grayshire either. No, Ione would figure out what was true all on her own.
Ione’s fist slammed into Anisa’s shoulder, throwing the assassin off balance. A second blow clipped Anisa’s jaw and she stumbled.
“They killed Ophelia!” Ione shouted, because Anisa and Ophelia had been close once upon a time as well. “Your precious Grayshire murdered her! That’s all I need to know!”
“And your precious Theravada burned my brother to death,” Anisa hissed, for the first time showing at trace of emotion, wiping angrily at a trail of blood from where she had bitten her lip. “You’re as guilty as the rest of them,” she growled, and attacked.
A poniard came flying toward Ione’s face. She twisted to avoid the projectile, never expecting Anisa to throw her weapon, and cried out when Anisa’s body slammed full force into hers. The two women crashed to the ground, Ione hitting hard soil with a harsh snap, the breath momentarily knocked out of her.
She gasped, grappling madly with Anisa, and uttered a curse when Anisa grabbed her left arm, digging fingers into Ione’s wound. More blood flowed freely and pain radiated up Ione’s arms. Her aether swirled and swelled, threatening to explode, responding to her pain. They rolled over wood and rocks, pieces of broken trees with jagged limbs that poked into Ione’s skin and through her clothes. The flooring was littered with vegetative debris.
Ione bucked, trying to throw Anisa off, to get a grip on the other woman. A knee rammed into Ione’s belly, driving her breath out of her. She twisted, slamming an elbow into Anisa’s jaw and driving Anisa back for a second. It was enough time for Ione to half-scramble out from beneath her, kicking her way free with a well-placed heel to Anisa’s right knee.
Anisa cursed, the blows only a momentary distraction, and came after Ione. One hand wrapped around Ione’s ankle, trying to drag her back.
Ione’s hand slipped out from under her and she hit the ground on her chest, rock biting into her chin harshly, drawing blood. Ione, gasping, blearily looked around, one groping hand encountering a large piece of wood, like many others scattered beneath them.
Ione didn’t think, didn’t consider it. Not with her heart pounding in her ears, her breathing a staggered staccato, the lingering feeling of Gale’s pained aether. The truth that he needed her, that Anisa wasn’t going to stop. That Ione was going to live because she sure as Kaiyu wasn’t going to die.
Grabbing the wood, Ione twisted onto her side and swung the log with all her might, slamming it into the side of Anisa’s head with all the force she could muster. A sickening crunch split the dry afternoon as the blow threw Anisa to the side, loosening her hold on Ione.
She dropped the log in horror and scrambled out from half-beneath Anisa, struggling to calm the raging waters inside of her. Ione clutched her wounded arm to her chest, closing her eyes as she dragged herself against the trunk of a tree. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe, pain radiating through her entire body. She felt bruised, the harsh sound of log striking skull echoing in the back of her mind, over and over.
It was too silent, too still. Ione wished, more than anything, that Fenris had been able to come. She could use the sly wolf’s comfort right now. His knowledge. His snark.
Swallowing thickly, Ione opened her eyes and looked at Anisa. The assassin hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched. Blood was trickling from her right ear, where Ione had hit her. Her eyes half-open, staring blankly.
Ione stiffened, and then forced herself to move.
“Anisa?”
Not a sound, not an answer, not a whisper of aether. Did she really expect one?
Ione’s left arm itched like mad, burning and radiating stabs of pain. She ignored it, creeping forward, one hand turning Anisa’s face toward hers. Her palm was warm against Anisa’s cheek. The assassin’s chest wasn’t moving. There wasn’t a single puff of breath from her nose or her slightly parted lips.
Ione wasn’t so naïve. Anisa was dead. And Ione had killed her.
“We’re in a war.”
Her own words came back to haunt her.
“It’s not your fault.”
Except that it was. This time, at any rate. Faye’s death may have been an accident, a fault of their foolishness and an icy lake. But this, this was all Ione’s doing. All her hands. She had swung the log, she had aimed, she had used all her strength.
She had been protecting herself. She had been desperate. Somehow, that didn’t make her feel any less disgusted with herself.
Ione leaned forward, gently closing Anisa’s eyelids. Thinking of Anisa’s parents, who would now grieve for two children instead of one. Anisa had a younger sister, about Naomi’s age, but still, to lose two members of the family in such a short span of time…
Ione couldn’t even begin to contemplate it.
Feeling dull, disconnected, Ione reached for the thick sash wound about her waist and yanked it free. She wrapped it around her injured arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Using her teeth, she managed to tie off the knot, her entire arm swabbed in cloth. It would do for now, until she could get back to Paragon and have Cyrus take a look at it.
Ione dragged herself to her feet, clutching her injured arm close. She looked down at Anisa, her clothing a splotch of black that eerily resembled the ash left behind by a Merihem. Her childhood friend, killed by Ione’s own hands.
Suddenly, Ione felt nothing more than a naïve young girl, foolishly believing that everything would be all right in the end. The realities of the war had never been so real to her. Ophelia’s death had brought the tragedy home, but the bloodshed had always felt removed to Ione. Even in the Brigade, she’d only ever captured the enemy. Grayshire had wanted members of the rebellion alive for questioning, after all, and even then, they’d just been enemy to Ione. Not former friend.
The blood felt heavy on her hands.
Swallowing thickly, Ione forced herself to turn, leave Anisa behind. She had to find the others, to see if they were all right. Her family. Kieran and Siobhan and Gale and Helene. Gale whose aether had reacted strongly and strangely earlier, in a place where they shouldn’t have dared use their magic.
Ione moved woodenly, on automatic, as she tried to retrace her steps to where she had left the rest of her companions. She and Anisa couldn’t have gotten too far. No doubt it was just the thick, dead underbrush that made it seem farther. She tried not to think about having to leave Anisa behind, about the body that Ione couldn’t carry on her own. She tried not to think about how much she was betraying yet another piece of her childhood.
Voices keyed her in to the fact she was getting close. That and the subtle vibrations of Gale’s familiar aether reaching out to coil with her own. A completely unconscious act, one that didn’t seem to be affected by the negativity of Varos.
Ione found them a few minutes later, just behind a copse of dead, twisted willow trees. The Special Ops Douzaine was nothing more than collapsed forms scattered around the small space, alive or dead, Ione couldn’t tell. She suspected it was a mixture of both.
“Ione!” Gale spotted her first, the relief in his tone tangible. His gaze fell to her wrapped arm. “You…?”
“It’s just a scratch,” Ione dismissed, and moved slowly closer, her body aching where Anisa had kneed her.
She noticed him then. Her uncle, laid out across the ground, unmarred but unconscious. Barley breathing, looking pale as death, and Gale, face twisted with worry, blood painting the front of his robes.
“What happened?” Ione demanded, her gaze skittering around, finally finding Siobhan just a few short feet away.
The scientist was kneeling on the ground, her arms wrapped around Helene, who also wasn’t moving.
Something tightened in Ione’s chest. She staggered.
“What in four hells happened?”
Gale was on his feet in a moment, his hands on her shoulders, squeezing tightly as though trying to stop the hysteria that was building up inside of her. “He’s alive, Ione,” Gale reassured her. “He’s been poisoned, but for right now, he’s alive. We have to get him back to Paragon. We don’t have much time.”
Swallowing thickly, Ione nodded numbly. “And Helene?”
Grief flashed in green eyes, dulled by their experience. “I couldn’t save her,” Gale said, and his gaze fell away, blond hair safely concealing his expression from her. “Sabriel’s going to kill me.”
“I don’t understand,” Siobhan said, her voice thick from tears, shed and soon to fall. “Grayshire’s never sent frequent patrols into Varos before. Why would they send a Special Ops Douzaine? Why were they here?”
Pale blue eyes looked at Ione desperately, as though she should know the answer to those questions. But she didn’t, she didn’t know why Anisa was here, leading a Douzaine of assassins with intentions to kill them. Was it nothing more than coincidence?
“We can’t afford to think about that right now,” Ione found herself saying, the strange voice of reason. “We have to get back to Paragon before we lose Kieran, too.”
Gale’s hands fell from her shoulders. “Anisa?”
It was Ione’s turn to look away. “We’re in a war. What do you expect?”
She didn’t exactly answer him, but her words were confirmation enough. Ione looked at her uncle worriedly, so still, so much like death. Helene was already dead. Ione had been too late to save Ophelia. Her jaw firmed. She wouldn’t fail to save her uncle.
“Gale, could I have your cloak?”
He looked at her for several seconds, his gaze piercing. “Why?”
“We can’t leave Helene here,” Ione answered, forcing herself to breathe, to be calm and in control. She could panic and rage and cry and break down later. But right now, they didn’t have much time and Ione had to be strong. She was strong.
Luckily, the rest required little explanation.
Ione casually rubbed a hand over her aching arm, watching as Siobhan gently wrapped Helene in Gale’s robe.
Just yesterday they had been running together, telling stories. Helene had given her some good advice. And now Helene was gone. Ione was having trouble reconciling that in her mind.
They built a sling to carry Helene since Ione’s left arm was useless and neither she nor Siobhan could do it on her own.
Gale put Kieran over his shoulder, the scientist not making a single sound, not even a single twitch. If not for his shallow breathing, his weak pulse, Ione would have thought him dead. She looked at her uncle’s slack face, at his lack of usual energy, and something inside of her clenched unpleasantly. She couldn’t bear to lose him, too.
The walk would be a long one, a couple hours at least. And they would be slowed by their injuries, by their burdens. Ione wasn’t surprised that conversation was nonexistent. The cheerful, almost excited tone of that morning had been utterly demolished, leaving a tense sorrow behind. The sun crawled higher in the sky, gleaming down at them heatedly.
Ione’s left arm ached and itched in the wrappings. A few spots of red showed through her sash, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to worry Gale. They had too much on their shoulders already.
At her side, Gale looked lost in thought. His brows were drawn tight, the blood on his clothes all that more noticeable. Siobhan was equally silent, trudging along and doggedly carrying Helene’s weight, her eyes occasionally skittering over to her boss worriedly.
“You had no choice,” Gale said quietly, his voice breaking into Ione’s thoughts. “She had her orders and she was going to follow them.”
Ione chewed on her bottom lip. “She offered me the chance to return to Grayshire.”
Gale turned toward her in startled surprise. “You believed her?”
“A part of me wanted to,” Ione admitted, because it was true. There was a part of her that wanted to go back to the way things were. Before she had been forced to leave her family. Before Malcolm had been betrayed by his own and left for dead. Before Ione had to face her former companions across the battlefield. Simpler times.
“Ione…”
She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, Gale. I don’t regret my decision to join the Theravada. But I miss my parents, my brothers, my friends.” She looked up at him, idly rolling her right shoulder to ease the strain of the sling bearing Helene. “I miss the way things used to be.”
Gale looked uncomfortable, worried even. “Grayshire wants to kill you.”
“I know.” Ione sighed, her right arm twitching. “Anisa claimed she knew people. She could make things happen. And all I had to do was abandon Fenris. Break our bond.”
“I couldn’t even consider such a thing.”
“Neither could I.” Ione offered him a small smile, which failed at being reassuring. “I turned her down, Gale. I didn’t even have to think about it.”
The way his eyes lit up should have warmed her inside, but instead, Ione felt strangely cold. Maybe it was shock, the build up of the day’s events. She wasn’t sure. Too much was happening all at once.
Paragon came into sight after what seemed like days of trudging, and Siobhan, bolstered by the sight, rushed ahead of them to get help. Ione was grateful that she had, because now both arms were aching and her legs were beginning to feel a little weak. She wavered, her right hand lifting to her face where she felt strangely hot and flushed.
“Ione?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine,” Ione reassured as Gale looked at her in concern. “It’s the heat, I think. Too hot for Autumn, yes?”
Gale didn’t look like he believed her. Not that he had a chance to argue any different, not with the swarm of people suddenly upon them. Siobhan had returned, and with her one of the guards inside the tunnel. No doubt the other had been sent to acquire more help.
Terrace, Ione recognized him as one of Grayson’s favorite sparring partners, had already hefted Helene into his arms. A well-muscled, burly sort of man, he was well suited for the task.
With Terrace’s help, they were easily rushed to the hidden tunnel where even more people crowded them. Sabriel and Talya and Cyrus, out of breath from having run the whole way. Malcolm and many others, including Inari who immediately tangled herself around Gale’s legs and Gwydion who fluttered into the room with a worried click of her beak as she settled on Kieran’s chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” the little owl demanded.
“I’m not sure,” Gale answered, but he held out his hand, showing the dart nestled in his palm. “But I know this had something to do with it.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Master Kieran should be immune to any poison crafted by Grayshire.”
“Apparently, not this one,” Gale said. “Where’s the boss?”
“I had to send Ogden out for him,” Talya explained, dropping to her knees beside Kieran and checking his vitals as Cyrus did the same on the other side. “He went back to Grayshire this morning, saying something about a meeting.”
“Damn.” Gale cursed, and then noticed his cousin, Sabriel standing there with all the blood draining from his face as Terrace handed Helene over as delicately as possible.
“Ione!” A large force slammed into her and Ione stumbled as Fenris all but tackled her, sending her off balance until her back hit the wall lightly, jogging some bruises.
She grunted and quickly put a hand on his head, petting familiar grey fur. “You trying to injure me even more?” Ione grumbled, feeling oddly dizzy. Disconnected.
There were two wolves, not just one? Her ears felt stuffed with cotton. She couldn’t quite hear. And golden eyes looked into hers intently. Worried.
A wave of nausea swept through Ione and she swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly filled with saliva. Her aether, usually a calm wind inside of her, suddenly raged like a hurricane before settling down again, repeating the process until she felt she were swimming through a pressure of magic.
“Something’s not right with you,” Fenris said, dropping back down to his paws and nosing at her injured arm. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s just a scratch,” Ione said, but it was more of a mumble. Her tongue didn’t want to cooperate. Her legs turned to jelly and she slumped against the wall. “It only burns a little.”
“Burns?” Fenris repeated and she didn’t like his tone.
“You don’t feel right,” another voice commented, and Ione startled. When had Aponi shown up?
Ione blinked, trying to turn her head to see the butterfly sitting on her shoulder. But everything was a dark blur. It felt like it was moving in painfully slow motion. Her arm burned and felt dead weight at her side. Dots danced in front of her eyes, and the ground seemed so far away. She swayed again.
Hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look into green eyes. “Ione?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but it was more of a slur.
“No, you’re not,” Gale insisted.
Pain suddenly shot through her entire body and Ione gasped, curling over. “I know. I don’t… I don’t feel so good.” Her hands shot out, grabbing onto his arms.
“Were you hit by a dart?”
Ione shook her head, and instantly wished she hadn’t. It suddenly felt like a dozen Graysons were dancing about her skull, sparring with her brain cells.
“She’s hurt right here though,” Fenris said from somewhere far below, his voice heard through a thick fog.
Fingers grabbed Ione’s right arm, unwinding the makeshift bandage. Their touch burned like fire, and had Ione the strength, she would have pulled away. The white light of the hall was too bright; it burned her eyes so she closed them. Her fingers felt numb.
Somebody gasped and a gentle touch brushed Ione’s arm, in a wider circle than she knew the wound to stretch. It was just a small thing. It barely bled. What were they so worried about?
“Why do her pupils look like that, Cyrus?”
“This isn’t good.”
“Do something!”
“Like what? Nothing I’ve seen reacts like this!”
Ione shivered, while heat bloomed throughout her body. Her aether rose in a violent lash, and then subsided again, quivering inside of her like a scared child. It was almost like being caught by the Merihem again, looking into it’s gem-colored eyes and feeling as if her soul were being sucked out at the same time.
“Ione!” Gale’s voice, his warm hand, his green eyes.
“Tired,” she mumbled, and her numb grip fell away from Gale’s robes. She thought she might have been crumpling but it was a distant sensation before she was swept from the ground and into someone’s arms.
Darkness started crawling into the edges of her conscious. Descending faster and faster, sucking her in. The world blurred, sight and sense and sound and touch. She smelled blood and despair; she tasted the smoke of torches, the harsh bitter scent of charred food. Something wet bumped her dangling left hand. A bare brush settled on her ear. She heard a steady thump-thump near her right ear.
And then Ione knew nothing at all.
a/n: Updates will slow as I gear up for NaNo. Man, it seems like there just isn't enough time in a day anymore. Sheesh. Computer still broke; things are taking longer. Still, I hope you liked the update!
